But he would not do that. His people had given him another chance, and with that chance went respect and pride. He had the Proud One for a mate, and he would die before he would give her up.
They all sat and smoked while the soldiers cooked beef. It had been several days since Two Arrows had eaten, and then it had been only a few bites of half-raw horse meat. The scent of the food drifted, but even those faint from hunger gave no sign. They might be ragged, thin, and half-frozen, but they were Cheyenne warriors, and, besides their freedom, they had only their pride.
This was a good officer, Two Arrows thought, watching him. The young man signaled for the coffee to be poured and plenty of lumps of sugar to be added. He did not begin to talk unceasingly like a magpie, he acted as if he were serving honored guests and that he had all the time in the world to drink coffee and smoke.
Two Arrows took the steaming cup, warming his cold hands around it. The other warriors accepted theirs as if they were doing the soldiers a favor. They would not shame themselves by gulping and showing their hunger.
Two Arrows cleared his throat. “If the captain please,” he said with dignity, “our women and children.”
“Of course.” The officer nodded to his sergeant who brought out more cups and began to circulate among the families. “Please do me the honor of sharing my food.”
He had forgotten how good beef was; not as good as buffalo, but then, most of the buffalo had been slaughtered by white hunters long ago. The chiefs accepted tin plates of beef and hardtack and began to eat.
Two Arrows saw the soldiers relax visibly, and he did, too. The only thing that worried him now was that one might recognize the Proud One and demand her return.
The wind lessened, and the soldier chief passed out more tobacco and more coffee. At least this white man understood Indians well enough not to be rude and rush to the subject. It was not polite among Indians to rush to the point of any discussion. Finally, the captain said to Two Arrows, “Tell your chief he would honor me by coming to Fort Robinson.”
No one said anything for a long time after Two Arrows translated. The wind whistled through the camp, and the Indians smoked and stared into the horizon as if they had not heard.
The captain repeated his words.
Two Arrows turned to Dull Knife. “Once we get to the fort,” he said in Cheyenne, “we have no chance of escaping.”
Dull Knife nodded to show he understood, but his grave expression did not change. “Tell the soldier chief that we are almost to our own country and while we have enjoyed his feast, we must now be going to join my friend, Red Cloud.”
Two Arrows translated.
The officer’s red face mirrored concern. “Ah, but what is the hurry? Let us talk more. It will soon be dark and no time to ride. Let us eat more meat and smoke, tell stories into the night.”
Two Arrows looked out at the sentries with their rifles at the ready, and translated again.
Dull Knife considered, then spoke in Cheyenne. “Perhaps we can get away in the darkness.”
“We can try,” Two Arrows answered. “Perhaps we had better hide our weapons.” However, to the officer he smiled, and said, “The meat and coffee are good. We will linger and smoke and talk.”
It was late before everyone finally settled into their blankets, but the soldier chief, wise to the ways of Indians, posted a guard on the cavalry horses. Two Arrows found his way to Proud One and crawled in under the blanket.
“What is going to happen?” she asked.
He pulled her close against him, relishing the warmth of her soft body. “Did you get plenty to eat?”
“Yes, and them, too.” She nodded toward the old woman and little girl curled up by the fire nearby. “I hadn’t realized how hungry I was.”
He felt sorrow and shame. Perhaps a white woman was too frail for this harsh life. “All you have to do is identify yourself, and you’ll be on a train and out of here.”
“Mercy! And leave you, my love? I think not.” She put her arms around him and pulled him close. “What’s going to happen now?”
He kissed her face and held her close. “We’re hoping we can slip away before morning or maybe even overpower them if we must.”
She curled herself against his chest. “Let me know when it’s time to move out.”
But when Two Arrows checked in the middle of the night, there were still sentries guarding the horse herds, and the soldiers had their rifles at the ready. Before morning, their other plan was dashed, too, as reinforcements rode into the encampment.
Two Arrows felt his hope sink when he saw the additional soldiers. “The officer must have sent a rider to the fort.”
She put her hand on his strong arm. “We have no chance of getting away then?”
“Not unless we can convince him to let us ride on.” That wasn’t likely, Two Arrows decided. Several times over the next two days, the chiefs met with the officer, who insisted they must ride with him to Fort Robinson.
Old Dull Knife’s faith was touching and childlike. “Surely they will not send us back to Indian Territory,” he said to the others over and over, “now that we have walked all this way. Surely they will understand and let us go on to our own country.”
Wild Hog, Tangle Hair, Crow, Sitting Man, and Two Arrows exchanged looks. “Just in case they don’t,” Two Arrows suggested, “maybe we should hide our weapons before they demand we give them up.”
Dull Knife looked alarmed. “We will not give up our weapons, we will fight them instead.”
But the next morning when they awakened in that encampment, more soldiers had arrived during the night, and the new ones had brought cannons.
When Dull Knife saw the cannons, he said, “Yes, it is time to hide our weapons.”
The soldiers did not notice anything—Two Arrows saw to that. Stealthily, the Cheyenne dismantled all but the most ancient and useless of their weapons. Over several days, the dismantled weapons went piece by piece into the women’s clothes. Here and there went a cartridge or a spring or a trigger, used as a hair ornament or earring among the old ones or the children. Even Proud One had a rifle barrel tied with a thong and hanging down her back under the doeskin dress.
Finally came the moment the soldiers demanded that the Cheyenne give up their weapons. The warriors argued and stalled, as was expected. There was much discussion and smoking around the fire. The soldier chief insisted. Finally, the Cheyenne gave up a couple of the ancient, useless guns and pistols. Some would no longer fire or they had no cartridges to fit them anyway. It was a very small pile of weapons they laid on the blanket before the officer.
Even he looked surprised. “There is no more?” he asked Two Arrows.
Two Arrows shook his head. There were no more they were willing to give the soldiers. It did not seem to occur to the soldiers to search anyone; or perhaps they knew the warriors would not take kindly to white men putting their hands on the Cheyenne women. Cheyenne women were very modest and even wore chastity belts; they were not like the Pawnee sluts, who were free with their favors.
Again and again, the Cheyenne argued with the young officer that they should be allowed to travel on north, but with patience befitting an Indian, he shook his head and said he could not make that decision, only Washington could, and the Cheyenne must go with him and wait.
On that last night, Two Arrows was sorely tempted to steal a good horse and get away. He would be able to find his way to Little Wolf’s band. Having tasted freedom, it was difficult to contemplate that the warriors might be sent away to prison in Florida as the army had done in the past. Since he was an ex-army scout, the penalties for him no doubt would be worse.
Even as he thought that, he looked into Proud One’s face and knew she was weary and almost sick from the hunger and the long journey. She might not survive if he tried to take her with him, and he would not go without her. This woman meant everything in the world to him, he loved her so!
Finally, on a cold morning, the officer asked the
warriors to council. “We must go back to the fort and wait for Washington’s decision. There will be plenty of food and hot coffee there.”
Dull Knife looked from Two Arrows to the officer, hope in his weary, lined face. “Perhaps Washington will see how much we’ve sacrificed, how many have died to reach our country, and turn us loose to follow the wolf.”
The officer started to say something, hesitated. “Perhaps,” he said, and he sounded as if he wished it were true.
The Indians looked at each other, and Two Arrows was glad they had hidden most of the guns. Later, he thought, as he helped Proud One up on his horse, later, they were going to need weapons. The Cheyenne had pledged to die fighting rather than return south to Indian Territory!
Eighteen
Glory remained silent and kept her head down so she would not be noticed as the growing number of soldiers surrounded the Cheyenne.
Now they rode toward Fort Robinson surrounded by soldiers. At least they would be out of the cold, she thought with relief, as they were assigned to an empty army barracks at the fort. The first thing the Cheyenne did was hide the weapons they had sneaked in under the floorboards of the barracks.
To Two Arrows, she said, “Maybe Washington will decide to let the Cheyenne stay in the north.”
“I doubt that, but we can hope,” he answered. “In the meantime, it gives our people a chance to rest and gain weight; some of them were so worn-out, they couldn’t have traveled another mile.”
She looked out the window at the soldiers on guard duty. “No one seems to have noticed that I’m white.”
“The way you’re dressed and with your coloring, you look Indian,” he said. “Just be careful not to speak English in front of any of them.”
“I wouldn’t let them take me away from you,” she protested.
“You might not get a choice.” He kissed her forehead, holding her close. “They would think any white woman who wanted to stay with Indians had gone insane, and they’d ship you to some asylum.”
Glory shuddered at the thought and laid her face against his chest. “I have to admit I’m glad to get a warm place to sleep for a while.”
“Are you all right?” He took her small face between his two big hands, staring anxiously down into her face. “Maybe the camp doctor—”
“Would find out I was white and separate us,” she reminded him. “I’ll be fine. While we wait to find out what the government is going to do with us, we’ll simply make the most of whatever time we have.”
He looked troubled, but nodded. “You’re right, Proud One, we won’t borrow trouble by worrying about tomorrow, we’ll just treasure every minute we have together.”
The weather warmed intermittently, and the army treated their Indian charges reasonably well, saying they were waiting for Washington to make a decision. The Cheyenne relaxed, hoping for the best. The barracks were comfortable enough, the army provided rations, and the new commander, Captain Wessells, decided the Indians were no threat. He allowed them to hunt and roam away from the fort as long as everyone was back inside the barracks and accounted for every night.
Life fell into a pattern over the next few weeks. The men hunting and women and children sewing buckskin or sitting in front of the barracks, enjoying the chill, sunny days. In the evening, the people sang and talked, and the men smoked far into the night.
Glory had never been so happy as she was now. During the day, she worked with the women and learned more of the language and skills she would need if she were ever to live as a Cheyenne wife. Moccasin Woman taught her about beading and fancy quill work. Glory delighted in the children, especially little Grasshopper, who seemed to be everywhere, charming even the toughest of soldiers. She stayed away from the whites, afraid someone might realize who she was, but she could tell some of the soldiers were sympathetic to what the Cheyenne people had been through in traveling this far. At night, curled up in a bunk with Two Arrows, she was more than content.
“This is heaven to me,” she whispered against his ear, “even if we are crowded into a barracks.”
He pulled her against him and kissed her. “As long as you are in my arms, Proud One, anywhere is heaven.”
She sighed contentedly as he stroked her body with his big hands. “Is there any chance we’ll be able to escape this place?”
He nibbled on her ear. “We’ll wait first and see what Washington does. You and I could sneak away easily, but you know the commander has this rule about the head count each night. If we slip away, he’ll punish the rest.”
“I love all these people.” She embraced him and listened to those around her breathing rhythmically as the wind rattled the old building. “Someday, I’d like to have a child just like little Grasshopper.”
He kissed her and sighed. “I dream of fine strong sons; but I would not want to raise them as captives.”
“Someday, we’ll be free as the wolf, free, as the Cheyenne were meant to be.”
Almost in answer, from somewhere in the distance, the faint howl of a wolf drifted on the cold wind.
“See? He hasn’t deserted the people; he’s calling us, singing the Cheyenne song,” she said.
“I’m afraid right now, he calls in vain.”
She did not want to think about tomorrow or next year. All that mattered was this moment in time and being in this man’s arms. “Someday, we will go with the wolf.”
He held her very close and stroked her hair. “That’s too much to hope for.”
She laid her head on his arm. “As long as we aren’t separated, I can deal with anything else.”
“I should never have stolen you, Proud One. The last several weeks, you were so ill, I feared for you. David Krueger would have given you a life of ease and plenty.”
“I don’t want Lieutenant Krueger.”
“I would do anything to keep you from harm,” he whispered, and kissed her, “even though it would tear me apart to think of you with another man.”
“Oh, my dear one, don’t ever regret me,” she whispered against his lips. “I never knew what true love was until I became your woman.”
He was strangely quiet for a long moment as he kissed her. “I will always put your welfare above everything.”
“What do you mean?”
“It means I am tired of this discussion.” He laughed softly and rolled her on top of him then, where he could reach her breasts. “Make love to me, Proud One; make love to me so I’ll forget where we are and what tomorrow might bring.”
“I’ll make you forget everything but me,” she vowed with a smile and began to kiss and caress his big, scarred body. “And then we’ll do it again and again and be glad we have each other. Nothing else matters but our love.”
“Nothing else matters,” he echoed, and began to make love to her in earnest until she was gasping for air as she rode him, whimpering for more and digging her nails into his wide shoulders.
The weeks passed uneventfully. Things fell into a pattern for the Cheyenne as they waited for the decision from Washington. Every night, Two Arrows made love to his woman, and, as he dropped off to sleep with her in his arms, he was certain he could never get enough of her, no matter how long they were together. They might have only days or weeks, but that would have to be enough. Two Arrows was almost happy, concerned only that eventually, the soldiers would discover the Proud One was white and take her away from him, or that the Cheyenne would be ordered to return to Indian Territory. However, as one week passed into another and the white men’s holidays came, Two Arrows began to hope that maybe Washington would be lenient, order Dull Knife’s band turned loose to return to their hunting grounds. Nothing had been heard of Little Wolf’s group, and he breathed a sigh of relief, glad they had avoided recapture.
Sergeant Michael Muldoon dismounted from his buckskin and strode through the crust of snow into the commander’s office, saluted smartly.
“At ease, Sergeant Muldoon.” Captain Wessells leaned back in his chair behind his desk, gestured
to the chair across from him. His German accent was thick, but no worse than Michael’s himself. “Is good to have you assigned here to Fort Robinson.”
“Aye, thank you sir.” Muldoon rubbed his aching hands together, stared at the cedar tree in the corner, with its strings of colored paper and berries. “To be honest, I’d hoped to spend Christmas in a warmer clime.”
Captain Wessells pulled at his precise goatee and laughed. “Ja, northern Nebraska in late December isn’t the warmest place. I hear you got a medal and promotion back there when Major Lewis was killed.”
Muldoon shrugged and felt his ruddy face color modestly. “I was only rescuin’ my officer; the lad and I been together since the Civil War.”
“Well, I hear you were both brave. He should be happy with his medal and promotion. How is Captain Krueger?”
“Recuperatin’ at his father’s estate. After the first of the year, I suppose he’ll be reassigned. His horses are at Fort Reno, waitin’.”
The captain steepled his fingers. “I imagine with him being a hero and all, he gets an easy Washington post.”
Muldoon shook his head. “That’d be best; but he’s got a score to settle, and he won’t forget it.”
“Ja, I hope they don’t send him here, then.” The captain leaned back and put his shiny boots on his desk. “I heard about fraulein being kidnapped and killed. While I sympathize with Krueger, my job is to keep the northern Cheyenne corralled peacefully until I get orders.”
Muldoon stared past the Christmas tree to the snow outside. “To tell the truth, I’d begun to admire the Indians; they’re as tough as the Irish and up against about the same odds, but David has sworn to kill Two Arrows.”
The officer frowned and fingered his goatee. “Nein, not while this officer in charge. I don’t know even if that particular brave is here. Much as I understand Captain Krueger’s pain, I can’t allow him to declare hunting season and start Indian war.”
Cheyenne Song Page 26
